


bringing disease to the surface

by hawaiiwerewolf



Category: Fight Club - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawaiiwerewolf/pseuds/hawaiiwerewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d told you that you had the face of an angel, and the rest of the pieces just fell into place. </p>
<p>AU where Tyler actually is real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bringing disease to the surface

The name had come from Tyler, himself.

Angel Face. 

He’d told you that you had the face of an angel, and the rest of the pieces just fell into place. 

That was who you were now, who you were previously didn’t matter. Who you were before Fight Club didn’t exist anymore. You were Angel Face. 

You should count yourself lucky, most people didn’t get a persona in Fight Club. A nickname, an identity. Bob was still Bob. That guy was still that guy. Space Monkey #8 was still Space Monkey #8. 

You do count yourself lucky. You hang onto the name, cherish it. It ranks your level of importance right above the rest. 

To Tyler, you stand out, you’re important. 

But, of course, you’re still the mortal scum of the Earth, and you’re okay with that. You didn’t wait outside on that dingy porch for three days not to accept it. 

You’re still pathetic in comparison to Tyler. You’re still a space monkey. You still scrub up the remains of fat after every batch of soap is made. 

And yet, Tyler still singles you out. 

When he gives out a congratulatory pat on the back, you’re the one to receive it. When he hands out orders, you’re the one to abide by them. 

You’re his own little personal satisfaction, and this, he tells you himself. 

He tells you it over and over, like he wants it to be permanently embedded into your brain. 

He tells you it while watching you sweep the floors of the kitchen. He tells you it while tossing you a celebratory beer after another successful Project Mayhem job. He tells you it when the two of you are alone on the couch, your head’s in his lap and he’s playing with your hair. 

He hisses it in your ear while he’s fucking you, and you never forget it. 

He tells you it when you’re in the ER after getting your ass kicked by Tyler’s shadow. 

That had became an inside joke amoungst the space monkeys. Nobody actually knew the guy’s name. The guy who looked like he belonged in a cubical somewhere, typing out reports for his asshole of a boss, surviving on Starbucks and fancy condiments. Some say he actually did. 

He'd stand behind Tyler with a permanent look of disgust on his face. When it was obvious that Tyler had picked you to be his own little pet, the look of disgust was targeted at you. 

Then, when the disgust wasn’t enough, he’d kicked your ass. 

“He’s jealous,” Tyler had told you. You’d just been released from the hospital and Tyler was driving you back to the headquarters. You’re face swollen and stitched up. Your angel-like qualities had most likely faded. “don’t take it personally, he just - doesn’t know how to channel his emotions.” 

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t blame anybody for what had happened - getting your ass kicked was just a part of Fight Club, but the fights were never as personal as this one had felt. Maybe you’d been treading on the wrong territory without even knowing it. 

You were staring out the window at nothing and then you’d felt Tyler place a hand over yours. 

He said, “Look at me,” and you did. 

“He’ll get over it,” Tyler squeezed your hand, a gesture too caring to be coming from him, but you didn’t question it. “give him time and he’ll get over it.” 

And then, he’d told you again, that you were his own personal satisfaction. This time, though, it’d sounded more real. Like he actually meant it. 

And he did. 

You’re Tyler’s own little personal satisfaction.


End file.
